


It's Going to be Okay

by thefriendlymushroom



Series: Supernatural Imagines [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Dies, Bobby is reader's dad, Reader-Insert, depressed!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefriendlymushroom/pseuds/thefriendlymushroom
Summary: "Imagine being Bobby's daughter and hunting with the boys and them consoling you after his death."





	

You slam shut the sliding door to the van as soon as your father got through. That was a close one. Dean and Sam are talking already, but you slump against the side of the van in exhaustion. Until you notice your father—Bobby Singer—lying on the ground. Bleeding from a bullet hole in his head.

“Dad?” You say, crawling over next to him. You splay your hand across your father’s cheek. “Dad?” He doesn’t move, he doesn’t respond. “Dad!” You faintly register that Sam and Dean are yelling. Dean said something about a pulse—check his pulse. Your hand moves down your father’s neck, pressing against the pulse point. You can’t feel anything. Your hands are shaking too much. You can hardly breathe.

Sam has moved to the back with you and is kneeling beside you. He checks Bobby’s pulse as well. “Is he dead?” Dean demands. Nausea rolls in your stomach. “Sam, is he dead?”

“Just drive, Dean!” Sam shouts.

“You gotta talk to me, Sam!”

“He’s breathing. There’s a pulse.”

_Oh, god_ , you think. You hold your father’s hand, practically curling around it as you clutch it to your chest. Your free hand rubs along his forehead near his eyes. You stare at them, begging to any deity above for his eyes to open. _Please, please, please, please._

“Daddy, please,” you begged. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

You faintly register Sam’s hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder blade. This draws you out of your tunnel vision and you’re able to focus through your panic.

“Keep him upright,” Dean calls from the driver’s seat. “Stop the bleeding.” You move so Bobby’s head is propped up on your shoulder with you behind him. Dean calls 411 to find the nearest trauma center.

“Daddy, please stay with me,” you say into Bobby’s ear.

It felt like an eternity before Dean slid next to the trauma center’s emergency room doors. Not even bothering to turn the car off, he races around to sling open the sliding van doors. He pops into the back and draws one of Bobby’s arms around his shoulders. Sam takes the other. They lift him out of the van and are met by the doctors at the hospital doors. You follow numbly behind.

The doctors have pulled your father up onto a gurney, racing him down the halls of the hospital and shouting medical terms you can’t comprehend at the moment. You and the Winchesters try to follow, but are stopped by a nurse. “You need to stay out of the way,” she says.

“That’s my dad!” you protest.

“You have to stay back.”

“What are they doing?” Sam asks.

“We need to get him stable,” the nurse answers.

“When are you going to take the bullet out?” Dean says.

“ _If_ we can get the swelling down, _if_ it’s in a place we can get to, _if_ —”

“If he’s even alive that long,” Sam fills in.

Your hand instantly reaches down to grasp Dean’s. You’re squeezing his in a white-knuckled grip, but he doesn’t pull away.

Once the nurse knows the three of you aren’t going to go into the trauma room, she slides the curtains shut.

You wait anxiously for what feels like forever outside of the room your father’s room. But then a commotion erupts around him.

“His vitals were stable two minutes ago!”

“Well, he’s crashing now!”

Those words rang in your ears.

_He’s crashing now._

You stare into the trauma room, looking desperately at your father and the nurses and doctors swarming around him like bees to a hive.

_He’s crashing now._

A million heart-wrenching minutes later, the doctor steps out of the room.

“He’s stable for the moment,” the doctor says, “but we’ll just have to see.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You rub your hand down you face, pressing against your eyes. Then you slide your hand against your jeans anxiously. Your throat burned and it’s hard to breathe. The doctor walked away, having relayed his message.

You and the Winchesters wait about the emergency room all night, all hoping desperately for a doctor to come out with good news.

You never once let go of Dean’s hand.

A while later, a man walks up to the three of you—you and the Winchesters. “Excuse me,” he says, “but are one of you Robert Singer’s next of kin?”

You tense. “I—I am,” you say.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” You nod. You let go of Dean’s hand and follow the man a little bit down the hallway.  
Nurses walked towards Bobby’s room, talking about moving him. “What’s happening?” Sam asked them.

“He’s showing signs of responsiveness,” one of the nurses said. “We’re taking him up for surgery. If you want to see him, I’d squeeze in there quick.”

You immediately scrambled into the room, clutching Bobby’s hand in yours. “Hey, Dad,” you said softly. “They’re gonna take you for surgery. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. Sam was standing behind him. “Thanks…for everything, Bobby,” he said.

You looked over your shoulder at Dean. “Wanna say anything?” you asked. Dean shook his head.

“Okay, I need you guys to step back,” a nurse said.

You were about to comply when you felt Bobby’s hand squeeze your fingers. “Wait!” you cry. “His—his hand squeezed mine!” You looked down at him. “His eyes are opening!” Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away. “Dad—”

His eyes opened further and he looked blearily at you, smiling weakly. He moved his other hand up to remove the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean stopped him. “Wait, don’t talk. A pen—I need a pen,” he said. He raced to the end of the bed and removed a pen from the clipboard hanging there. He handed it to you before you gave it to Bobby, who then wrote a number on your hand.

“ _Idjits_ ,” he said weakly to Sam and Dean. His eyes moved to yours. “ _Y/N…love you_.” Exhausted, he laid his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. Then his heart monitor flat lined.

“What? No. _No!_ ” you cried. Nurses swarmed the bed. Arms tugged at your waist. Dean was pulling you away, trying to make room for the doctors to do their work. “No!” Dean managed to pull you away and spun you until you were facing his chest. He pulled you close. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you were openly sobbing.

“ _Sh_ ,” Dean hushed. His hand was at the back of your head and he was rocking you steadily back and forth. Having you to hold to, he just barely managed to keep his composure.

Time passed. You could hear the sounds of the hospital continue on—friends laughing, nurses discussing their patients, the heart monitors of the patients. And all you could think was _how_? How could life go on when it felt like yours was ending? How could these people around you keep moving on like nothing had happened?

..~**~..

It’s been five days since your father’s death. You and the Winchesters had holed up in Rufus’s old cabin. Time moved slowly. You felt as if you were swimming through Jell-O. You hardly moved. You barely ate. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that your father wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t there anymore to call when you needed help on a hunt, he wasn’t there anymore to know something was wrong without having to ask, he wasn’t there anymore to hug you.

_He wasn’t there anymore._

It was night. Sam was asleep on the couch. Dean had fallen asleep researching at the table. You silently got up and made your way out of the cabin, stepping into the cool night air. You didn’t walk very far, only going to the nearest tree. You sat against it, drawing your legs into your chest. You looked up at the sky, spotting the constellations your dad had taught you as a kid. Thinking of the nights spent stargazing caused tears to prick your eyes and your throat to close. You muffled a sob into your knees.

A hand landed on your back and you jumped, cursing yourself for not bringing your gun with you— _how could you be so stupid?_ —but it was only Dean. He had woken up to the sound of you leaving the cabin. You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face, and he sat down next to you, stretching his legs out in front of him. He reached over and pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

“It’s _not_ going to be okay! How can it be okay?” you shouted, standing up and pacing in front of Dean. “It’s not going to be okay…” You paused and stared up at the sky, trying to regain your composure. “Dean…He was the only one I had growing up. I had no friends, no other family. My dad was the only one who was ever there for me. And now he’s just…not there anymore. He’s gone. He’s _gone_. I won’t accept it!” You furiously marched off. Where you were headed, you didn’t exactly know.

But Dean grabbed a hold of your elbow and tried to pull you to a stop, but you shook him off. You could hear him following after you. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To Dick fucking Roman or a crossroads, whatever I find first.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on there.” Dean put his long legs to good use and got in front of you, bodily making you stop. He gently, but firmly, held onto the tops of your arms to keep you in place.

“Let me go.”

“Listen to me first,” he said. “We will find Dick. We will get revenge. We’re working on it right now. Just give it time and don’t be stupid and get yourself killed by finding him right this second—unarmed, I might add. Bobby would never want you to do that. And he would never want you to sell your soul for his.”

“He’s the only family I have left, Dean!”

“That’s not true. Me, Sam—hell, even Cas—we’re your family, too. And we’re still here. We need you here, not on suicide mission for Dick Roman or dead in ten years after a soul deal.”

You took a shaky breath. “Just…how are we going to do this? How am _I_ going to do this?”

“We’ll take it one day at a time.” He took your hand. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. You haven’t eaten in days.”

**Author's Note:**

> From http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/97860431134/anonymous  
> Also, originally, I included memories of Bobby's and I still have them, if anyone wants me to add them in. Just drop me a line.


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